Tomorrow, we’ll take a drive down to the city and I’ll hold your hand while we walk on cracked asphalt in the late February sun. I’ll point out the places that were most important to me growing up- the park where I learned to ride my bike, the old, gray building where I scribbled my very first sentence, the house in front of which I always scraped my knees after clumsy games of Tag. Tomorrow, in the place where I made the transition from child to young girl, with buildings stretching above us into what must be eternity, maybe I’ll find the bravery somewhere within the smog and the sidewalks to look you in those big, blue eyes and tell you a million times, over and over again: I love you, I love you, I love you.
